


it's a date

by liionne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Disabled Character, M/M, Puppies, Slow Build, bucky gets a puppy, steve runs and animal shelter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes has been advised to get a puppy to help get him back into civilian life. Steve Rogers runs the local dog shelter that Bucky visits. Drama ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a date

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because I needed stucky and puppies, and i actually kind of hated it at the 7000 word mark, so I must thank [xmorse](http://xmorse.tumblr.com) for encouraging me to carry on. This is unbeta'd, so I apologise for any mistakes.

Bucky decides to get a dog, because he needs a dog. Well. He needs a companion. He could get a dog or a cat or a hamster, a tortoise maybe, hell he could get a chinchilla or some shit. Or y'know, he could get an actual human friend who wasn't Natalia, who was always flitting here, there and everywhere on missions that she described as "too secret for the CIA". But he's decided on a dog, so he's going to get a damn dog.

Sam says he needs someone. Bucky's nightmares are frequent, and not even just confined to the night. Any time he closes his eyes, whether it be to sleep, to rest them, or even just to blink, there are images of so many tours in the Middle East, so many of his friends shot, stabbed and killed, blown to pieces. He sees his own bloodied stump of an arm, and gets a pain in his shoulder when he thinks about it. He really does try not to. He would wipe that whole part of his memory if he could. But he can't, and Sam says maybe, in a warped, twisted kinda way, that's a good thing.

"Those memories have made you who you are now, Bucky." He's said, on multiple occasions. "You just have to work through them."

But that's easier said than done, of course.

So he's getting a dog to serve as a distraction, someone to provide some comfort when he has a particularly bad nightmare, someone to give him a reason to get up and eat and wash and leave the house. Someone to give him a sense of purpose.

And so he walks into that shelter with a bag full of dog supplies in the trunk of his car, and the plan to not leave that shelter without a dog of some sort.

He heads to the desk at the front of the room; it's all very clean. Linoleum floor (easy to mop, he supposes) in a light blue colour, the walls a faded sort of cream. It looks like it needs a revamp, but it's still nice, and it's clean. It makes Bucky feel a bit out of place, actually. His hair is long, too long; he hasn't been to a barber's since he got back from getting his metal arm fitted (courtesy of Stark Tech, he's pretty sure it was a publicity stunt, a bit of philanthropy and all that) and that was a while ago now. It hangs around his eyes, clouds his face. He wears a dark hoody that has, admittedly, gone a while without a wash, and his jeans are faded and fraying around the knees. He's in a bit of a state. He hopes the dog comes with fashion advice.

There's no one at the desk, and Bucky dithers for a second, wonders if he shouldn't just turn around and go, come back tomorrow. But _no_. He's getting himself a dog. He's not leaving without one.

He presses the buzzer on the desk, and hears it go off somewhere in front of him, in the bulk of the building, where he can't see. There's a lot of barking, and his lips twitch in an involuntary smile.

It fades when the door to the right of the desk opens, and the hottest guy Bucky has ever seen steps out into the foyer.

He's got to be pushing six foot two, and he's built, _really_ built, and he's wearing a t-shirt that is doing absolutely _nothing_ to hide his biceps. When he looks at Bucky he sweeps golden hair out of his eyes, pushing his bangs up out of his view, and when he meets his gaze, his sky-blue eyes light up, and he smiles.

Bucky feels the need to turn around and leave again.

"Sorry," The guy says, wiping his hands on his thighs. "There's normally someone out here, but we're short staffed through the back- a mom's just had a litter, it's kinda hectic." He offers Bucky a bright, dazzling smile, and all Bucky can do is nod dumbly back at him. "So- can I help you?"

"I, uh-" Bucky coughs, clears his throat. "I want a dog." He says eventually, and he thinks those are probably the four toughest words he's ever had to say. He just couldn't get them past his teeth.

The guy gives him a grin, and Bucky just about melts. It's crooked, his lips curling more up to the left than to the right, and there are laugh lines around his eyes, which light up just as they had done before.

"Well you're in luck," He says, and he's still grinning just a little, smirking almost. "We've got a lot of those."

Bucky blushes, and he shifts from foot to foot. The guy reaches out, claps his shoulder in a friendly manner, but Bucky can't help but flinch. He knows that this guy must have felt how hard his left arm is beneath the hoody, how cold it is. He must have.

"I'll show you around, shall I? See if there's anyone you like?" He asks, and Bucky nods. "I'm Steve, by the way." He holds out a hand, and Bucky regards it for a moment before he grasps it with his right hand, shaking it as firmly as he can muster.

"Bucky Barnes." He answers, dropping his hand somewhat awkwardly as he tries to force the thought of how broad Steve's hand was, and how warm it was in his, and how the feeling of his skin against Bucky's sent electricity up his arm and down his spine.

"Nice to meet you, Bucky." Steve smiles, and Bucky actually believes that maybe it is. Steve sees genuinely pleased. "Right this way."

He leads him through the door behind the desk, and takes him through to the kennels. There's row upon row of dogs, older dogs, younger dogs, big dogs, little dogs. Steve lets him have a walk through, choose one he wants, but Bucky- well, he can find a single one he wants to get attached to. One he wants to take home. He purses his lips, and looks at them all.

And then he finds it.

It's only a year old. Still a puppy, really. It's a mongrel, a mix, he thinks, of a husky and a golden retriever. It's got to be. Its - his - fur is black and white and streaked through with gold, and yet he has the biggest, bluest eyes Bucky has ever seen- on a dog. They're still no match for Steve's, who he knows is still lurking at the end of the hallway, waiting for him to make a decision. He knows that. He had already mapped the exits when he came in here, mapped the windows, the doors, calculated how close Steve was and where he was going, had hung back around every corner. It was force of habit. Second nature. And he _despised_ it. But then, he was really hoping that the dog would help him get out of that habit.

And this dog was perfect. Big blue eyes, still small enough to have some growing to do; it would be a big dog. Would need a lot of walking. Would need a lot of looking after, especially because of the little guy's biggest selling point-

He only has three legs.

Bucky knows. He knows it's that one. He crouches down, reaches his right hand through the bars of the kennel, and the little guy wags his tail as he steps forward. Bucky hears footsteps, and notes Steve to his right, crouching down beside him.

"This is Hunter." Steve says, and Bucky turns to look at him for a moment before he looks away. "He's, uh- he's been with us for a while. He lost his leg when he got hit by a car. The owner never came back to collect him from the vet."

Bucky winces. He scratches the top of the dog's head, and he swears to god the dog smiles at him.

"He's a good little guy. Good for someone ex-military, y'know-"

Steve can't even finish his sentence, because Bucky interrupts. His hand is still pushed between the bars, the metal causing his arm to ache as it presses against him, contricts him. And normally that would bother him, but he's distracted by three things- one, the fur beneath his fingertips, soft and warm and fuzzy; two, the fact that Steve has apparently plucked that out of nowhere, the ex-military thing, and now Bucky's heart is in his throat and he can taste acid, nerves nibbling away at his insides; and three, Steve himself, who is so warm and so close and smells so good, who meets his gaze steadily. Bucky is surprised to find that there is no pity, no real sympathy in his eyes. Just understanding.

"How did you know?" Bucky asks, strangled.

"I spend too much time down at the VA." Steve admits, giving a small smile. It doesn't reach his eyes, and it doesn't seem real; it seems sad. "My friend, he volunteers there, so I stop by and watch his meetings sometimes. And I was in the army too."

"You- you were?" Bucky asks, and he blinks a few times. The pup presses up into his touch, insistent, but Bucky is focused on Steve. He compares himself to this guy; Steve has a job, he seemingly has a life outside of said job, he has friends. He doesn't walk into a room and immediately look for the exit, he doesn't shy away from touch, or loud noises, or anything, seemingly. He's not _broken_. He's _normal_.

Unlike Bucky, of course.

Steve nods. "It's technically Captain Rogers, but- sometimes it's easier to forget that. I'm retired, anyway. From the military."

"Sergeant." Bucky says, and he clears his throat. His voice sounds hoarse, underused, and that's probably because he never talks to anyone- just Sam, his therapist who's not even a therapist, just a guy he knows; Natalia, because she refuses to let him wallow in his own self pity; and well, that's it. He doesn't have any other friends. No other companions. Steve is the first stranger he's ever spoken to. "It's Sergeant Barnes. I don't tell people that either, not really."

Steve nods. "I get it." He murmurs. He nod. He doesn't press the issue. Maybe that's a thing he's learned from his friend at the VA, because he looks like he wants to ask something, but he doesn't. Instead he claps his hands on his thighs, and god, Bucky's not even going to _glance_ down there, and looks back at Hunter, the puppy. "How's about we take him out, so you can have a proper look at him?"

Bucky nods, pulls his hands back between the bars. Hunter looks wounded, and he makes a high pitch winding that makes Bucky melt. This little guy is going to have him wrapped around his little finger.

Steve stands, and Bucky follows suit, taking a step back. The bolt is pulled away from the door, and Steve swings it open carefully, putting himself between the puppy and the gap in the door - i.e freedom - as he clips a leash onto his collar. And when that's done, he steps aside, and lets Hunter run out into the hallway.

He bounds up to Bucky like he's always been his owner, like he's known him his entire life, and looks at him expectantly. So Bucky kneels down, allows the pup to clamber into his lap, and lick his chin. It's kind of gross, but it's a nice feeling. With his front paw on Bucky's legs and his back paws on the ground, he looks silly when he wags his tail, but Bucky runs both hands down his sides regardless. He's cute. He buries his fingers in his fur, runs his left hand over the puppy's head. He's honestly surprised when he doesn't flinch, but rather presses up into the contact. He smiles, and it feels genuine. He hasn't smiled like this in a long time.

"He likes you." Steve observes.

"I like him." Bucky responds, and laughs softly as the puppy clambers into his lap, front paw on his shoulders, back paws on his legs, putting them face to face. Or rather, nose to snout. The lack of a front leg doesn't seem to hinder him at all, only makes him wobble more as he wags his tail. "He's the one."

"You're sure?" Steve asks. "You don't want to keep looking?"

"No," Bucky says, and he knows he doesn't. His right hand gingerly traces the stump where a leg should be, but Hunter just keeps on licking his jaw. "It's got to be him."

"Okay." Steve murmurs, and Bucky can't help but stare for a moment as he smiles. It's another crooked smile, pulled up more to the left than the right, just like before, and it makes Bucky's stomach flip unexpectedly. He looks back at the puppy, and he's reluctant to say goodbye.

"I'll come by some time this week," Steve says, as he leads Bucky back out of the building, into the reception. The sound of yapping and yowling and barking is muffled when he shuts the door behind them. There's a woman behind the desk now, with short, dark hair. She looks at Steve, and she smiles, painted lips turning upward. Bucky's stomach clenches again. She's a pretty dame. He wonders if she's Steve's girlfriend.

Dumb. He's being dumb. What would it matter if Steve had a girlfriend?

"That okay by you?" Steve asks, and Bucky realises he's zoned out, too busy worrying about Steve's lovelife. He blushes, and swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing.

If Steve looks down, watches it for a second, then Bucky has totally imagined it. He had to.

"What?" He asks, and he tries to shake some of his long hair lose, discreetly, to hide his face. It doesn't work.

"This thursday, 10 o'clock. That any good to you? 'Cause I can do Friday, or Wednesday. We've got to give you three days to get ready, that's all. And it's Saturday today, so that's at least 'til Wednesday. But I'm free Thursday morning." Steve says, and he gives a small smile. "That okay?"

Bucky nods. "Fine." It's not like he'll be busy. VA meetings are on Wednesday evenings, and he doesn't even go to them, not really, he just goes to see Sam after, or sometimes before. Natalia is in Eastern Europe, on a mission, or some crap. She won't be calling him any time soon. He's free as a bird. A bird very reluctant to leave it's cage.

"Great. I'll bring the paper work, so if you're place is up to par - which I'm sure it will be - I can leave it with you and you can come in to pick him up. Sound good?" Steve asks. He looks down, pencils something into a book, and the dame by his side turns to grab the phone after the first ring. She speaks in a bright yet hard tone, in a clipped British accent. He looks away. He needs to stop analysing people.

"Great." He nods, and he gives Steve a small, forced smile. "I'll see you then."

"See you then, Bucky." Steve says, and smiles as Bucky turns to leave. Bucky wants to turn back, wants to look over his shoulder to see if Steve is still watching, but he forces himself out of the front door and listens to the bell as it signals his exit.

~*~

"Thank for helping, Sam- I'm kind of awful at tidying up."

Sam fluffs a couple of cushions (which he had supplied, because Bucky doesn't actually own any cushions) and sets them on the couch. He arranges them so that they look somewhat like something out of a catalog, and Bucky grimaces. It doesn't look like his place at all, but it has to look livable. It has to look fit for a puppy. He puppy-proofed the apartment the day before, covering over sharp edges and locking cupboards, buying doorsteps so that the little fella can't get his tail or his paw trapped in the door. He cleaned, hoovered and dusted and polished, and now he's tidied. He chews his lip. Steve should be hear in a half an hour.

"Not a problem, man." Sam says, and he pats Bucky on the shoulder, making sure to clasp the right and not the left. "I'm glad you're doing this. He's gonna be good for you."

Bucky shrugs, but all he is met with is Sam's smile. "I'll leave you to it, alright? Text me and tell me how it goes."

"Will do." Bucky murmurs. He has a particular hatred of talking on the phone, now, and he's not sure where that came from, or what it's about, but he knows he much prefers texting. "Thanks again, Sam."

Sam raises a hand in a goodbye, sort of a wave, and leaves. Bucky settles on the sofa, and he waits.

He begins to over-think it, just like he over-thinks everything. What if Steve thinks he's tried too hard, or what if he thinks he hasn't tried hard enough, or what if he judges Bucky for his pokey apartment, or or the stain on the ceiling that was there when he moved into the place and honestly he's scrubbed, but he just can't get it off? What if Steve doesn't think he can handle a little disabled puppy, broken and abandoned, because he's already too broken and abandoned himself? What if he doesn't get his perfect little puppy?

Because he's already started referring to it as _his_ puppy in his head. He'll be distraught if it goes to somebody else, because he's too broke or too broken to have a dog himself. And he's not broke - not after the compensation and the war pension, as well as the money he had earned and stored before that - but he is broken. He wonders if Steve can tell.

He can probably tell. It's a hardly a secret.

He jumps when the door knocks, eyes darting over to it immediately. He reaches over with his left hand, because he always kept his gun on his left, and his heart leaps into his throat when it's not there because what is going to do now? No gun, no way to defend himself, someone about to come in and fuck it could be anyone-

But no. It couldn't. Bucky's not there anymore, in some dusty desert with nothing but a gun and some dog tags to his name. He's not, not anymore. He's in Brooklyn. He's in his apartment. And when he looks at the clock he finds that it's 9.57 which means it must be Steve at his door.

He's broken out into a cold sweat. He mentally kicks himself. He should be over this kind of thing right now. He takes a deep breath, to calm himself, and steps towards the door.

He wants to smile, as he opens it, but he can't quite manage. All he can manage is something that's neither a smile nor a grimace, but will do for now.

"Hey," Steve greets him. He's holding a clipboard and a fuck tonne of paper in one hand, a pen in the other. "You ready?"

"Mm hm." Bucky nods, stepping aside. He's already lay everything out where he wants it: the bowl lies in the corner of the kitchenette, by the kitchen table; there is one bed lying in the living room, by the sofa, where Bucky can see the puppy but not be close enough to disturb it (there's another one in the bedroom, by the side of the bed, but he doubts it'll be used); there's a cupboard full of dog food and treats that Steve's probably not going to see, and there's puppy-safe toys littered around the place. There's a leash hanging on the back of the door, with Bucky's jacket. He's prepared.

"Mind if I have a look around?" Steve asks. "Seriously, I hate this part. I'm not being nosy, I just gotta check."

He does look genuinely mortified at having to poke through Bucky's apartment, but when Bucky nods to give him the go ahead he looks down at his clipboard, and begins to walk around the apartment. It doesn't take very long at all, actually. Long enough to be thorough, but not long enough for him to be prying. Bucky has settled on the sofa, wringing his hands as he sits and waits for the verdict. He feels like he's guilty, being condemned of something, but then he often feels like that these days.

When Steve emerges from the bedroom, Bucky looks up at him, blue eyes wide. Steve flashes him a smile in response, and Bucky withers, relief flooding his system. That's got to be a good thing, right?

"Honestly, Bucky, this place is perfect. Might just be better than the actual kennels." Steve admits, and Bucky can't help it- he beams. He's tried damn hard on this apartment, after all. "So all you have to do now is fill out these forms, and bring them in as soon as you can. Sooner you do, the sooner we can get you your puppy."

Bucky stands, and takes the stack of paper from him. Honestly, it's enormous, and he doesn't know how he's going to get through it all, but he's damn well going to try. He wants little Hunter so bad; and now that he's stopped worrying, and there's no anxiety clouding his vision, he can see Steve properly.

And he definitely wants Steve too.

He's wearing a t-shirt, and nothing but a t-shirt, biceps well on show. It makes Bucky shiver just to look at them because _damn_. He's never seen muscles like that outside of pay per view wrestling, and it's hot. It's really hot. But contrasted with just how long his eyelashes are, how soft his smile is and how plump his lips are- he has no idea what to think. Steve is _beautiful_.

But this isn't about Steve. Steve would never want Bucky in a million years. This is about the puppy.

So Bucky takes the stack of papers, and tries not to squeak when their fingers brush.

"I'll see you soon?" Steve asks, and Bucky nods.

"As soon as I get out from this mountain of paperwork." He says, and Steve grins.

"That's the final test." He jokes. "Get through all that, and we'll know you're patient enough for a puppy."

"Gotta have the patience of a saint to get through all this, I reckon." Bucky says, surprised to find that he's joking back. He does joke, he jokes around with Natalia and with Sam, but Steve is pretty much a stranger. Bucky barely converses with strangers. There must be something special about Steve Rogers.

Steve laughs, and Bucky feels his stomach flip again. He's really not sure what that is about, not at all. But he powers through it, and gives Steve a smile. "Thanks." He says. "I'll see you around."

"See ya round." Steve returns, and he gives Bucky one last smile before he goes, ever so politely closing the door behind him.

~*~

The paper work asks for a lot of bullshit.

His full name, address, background check, references-

The puppy itself costs $300 dollars.

But he does it. He works through it.

And so the next day he goes back, stack of papers clutched in a metal hand, and turns his papers in.

~*~

"Uh- is Steve here?" He asks, when he gets to the front desk. It's that girl again, the one with the curled brown hair and the killer red lipstick. She smiles, pressed plump lips together, and shakes her head.

"No, he's out on a call. Had a couple of puppies to vaccinate, so he's taken them over to the vets." She's so English that it hurts, and so pretty too. Bucky's not sure who he's jealous of- Steve for getting to look at her, or her for getting to look at Steve. Her name tag reads _Peggy_. "I'm sure I can help you with whatever you need, though?"

Bucky sags, disappointment curling in his gut. He'd been looking forward to seeing Steve again, to triumphantly handing in his papers the very next day. He's sad to have missed him. He wonders when the next time he sees him will be- if he ever sees him again.

"I just wanted to hand in these." Bucky says, as he places them down on the reception desk.

Peggy gives him a smile, and she nods. "I'll take these." She says, her voice warm. "We'll call your references as soon as we can, and make a decision. It'll take at least a week, most of the time, so just keep your phone handy, alright?"

"Yes ma'am." Bucky murmurs, because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. He takes a deep breath, turns around, and walks away. He's one step closer to having his puppy.

~*~

Bucky is asleep when he's woken by the sound of his phone ringing, loud and tinny in his ear. He groans. He needs to stop playing Candy Crush Saga before going to bed, but he's addicted and it's a guilty pleasure and he just- he can't stop. But he's fallen asleep with it on his pillow again and he has no choice but to answer it, because it's within arms reach and ringing in his ear.

He groans, squints and pushes long locks of hair out of his eyes. He sits up when he sees it's the shelter, though, and answers it immediately. "Hello?"

It's been just over a week since he handed in the paper work, and honestly, the waiting is killing him. With every day that passes he sees his chances of getting little Hunter getting smaller and smaller, diminishing by the hour, and it makes his stomach churn. He needs this. He needs his little three-legged puppy.

"Hey, Bucky, it's Steve- are you alright?" Bucky wants to admit that he's just woken up, but then he looks at the time on the clock on the nightstand, and grimaces. It's one in the afternoon. He shakes his head, even though Steve can't see him. "I'm fine," He says.

"Okay, great. Well, we just wanted to let you know that we worked through your application, and it's approved. Your referees all said really great things- I didn't know that you knew Sam. Sam Wilson?"

"He works at the VA." Bucky murmurs. He's still processing all of this, letting it filter through his brain slowly. He's still sleepy, hasn't woken up, but there's a mantra forming in the back of his mind; _I have the puppy I have the puppy I have the puppy._

And then he remembers what Steve says, about how much time he spends at the VA. _"My friend, he volunteers there"._ He wonders if Steve has ever seen him, hanging around waiting for Sam at the end of the meetings. He's never seen Steve. Maybe they've been passing each other this whole time, just narrowly missing each other.

"Yeah- well, anyway, he had only good things to say. And your friend, Natasha, she said nothing but good things too." That takes a moment to click. Natasha. _Natalia_. He never calls her Natasha, not really. Too used to his foreign pet name.

"You can come and pick Hunter up whenever you like." Steve says. "You get a trial of a week to see if you work well together, and then if it does go well, you can come in, sign a few forms and pay the fee, and he's yours."

"Great. I'll, uh- I'll get dressed and be right over." Bucky says, and murmurs his goodbyes as he hangs up.

He gets up, brushes his teeth, combs his hair and gets dressed. He pulls on his shoes, and shrugs into a jacket. He grabs the leash on the back of the door, and reaches for the handle.

And that's when it hits him.

He's getting his puppy.

(Temporarily.)

The grin he gives splits his face in half, and he just can't stop it. So this is why he needs the little guy, he thinks. It's not just because he needs someone to look after, someone who is dependent on him so that he has no choice but to go out into the world, someone to make him sociable. It's to make him happy.

And then he remembers that he's going to see Steve and his stomach flip flops again.

At the shelter, he is met with the sound of excited yapping. Steve already has Hunter out, sat in the waiting room, and when Bucky steps through the door he bounces up, yaps and wags his tail, whole body wiggling as he does.

"Hey, buddy," Bucky murmurs, reaching down to pat his head. Hunter crawls into his arms, yapping and licking the underside of his jaw again.

"He's missed you." Steve comments, and when Bucky looks up to meet his eyes, he's smiling.

"I've missed him too." He nods, and Steve chuckles softly as Bucky clips the leash into place. Steve stands then, brushes the fur from the thighs of his jeans.

"So this is just a trial, just for a week." Steve says, and Bucky nods.

"I know that." He murmurs.

"But I have a feeling it's going to go well." Steve adds, like it's a secret, his voice low but still somehow bright.

Bucky gives a small, grateful smile, and after signing a few forms - they must have chopped down a whole god damn rain forest for this - he's allowed to go.

He has a feeling that it's going to go well too.

~*~

And it does. It goes really well.

So at the end of the week, Bucky dresses, clips on Hunter's leash, and walks back to the shelter. Hunter is officially his, once he's signed those forms and handed the cash over. The cash, which is in his pocket right now. It feels odd to carry $300 dollars around with him, but he'll be getting rid of it soon enough.

When the door dings, Bucky spots Peggy at the counter. No sign of Steve. He feels his stomach drop to the floor. He thought that he would get to see him this time, at least. It might be the last time, after all.

"There's just a few more thing for you to sign, and then you go." Peggy says, producing even more paper. There's a different girl by her side, one with curly blonde hair; she looks a little like Peggy herself. Maybe they're related.

Maybe she's the one dating Steve.

_Get it together, Barnes._

"Have you got the money?" Peggy asks, and Bucky feels a weight lift from his chest when he hands the roll of notes over to her.

He signs off everything he has to, and Peggy reaches out to shake his hand. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Bucky. And I'm glad Hunter's gone to a good home. We'll send someone out at the end of the first week to check up on you, but if you need anything until then, just give us a call." She says. Her smile is warm, and soft. She does seem genuinely happy for him and his little puppy.

"Yeah. Right. Thanks." Bucky murmurs. He smiles his at her, murmurs his thanks, and goes. His little puppy scampers along beside him the whole way home, and it feels nice. It's nice to have a new friend.

~*~

There are days where they don't do anything. They sit, and they chill. Of course the puppy has to be walked; they go out every morning and every evening. But sometimes, they laze around in the apartment, and do nothing. Bucky takes off his metal arm and Hunter seems to like that, because that stands them on equal footing, and the puppy lays in his lap and licks his hand as Bucky goes to stroke his head. He's taken to following him from room to room, always a few steps behind Bucky's heals. It's cute, to say the least.

But then they have days where they go out all day. They go to the park and stay for hours, playing fetch or tug of wire, letting little kids pet the "poor little doggy with one arm gone". Hunter doesn't seem to mind the pity parties. Bucky takes him down to the VA, to see Sam, but he knows that's not it. He wants to see Steve- because now that he hasn't gotten to worry about whether or not he's going to get the puppy, he has plenty of time to worry about whether or not he's going to see Steve again.

And he knows that, logically, he's probably will. Steve started his case at the shelter and he has a feeling that he'll be the one to finish it, but- but. It might be Peggy, or the other girl- he never did find out her name. It could be either of them. It could be someone that he hadn't met during his relatively short visits there. He doesn't know.

On the day of the visit, the shelter's representative is supposed to arrive at ten o'clock. Bucky's up and dressed by eight, and has walked Hunter, had him fed, even given him a bath. He's just done drying him off when there's a knock at the door.

And when he answers it, Bucky's heart skips. He's met with those bright blue eyes and that wide smile, and he melts. Behind him, Hunter yaps.

"Steve." He says, and he hates it that his voice gives away his emotions, that he sounds pretty damn loved up. _Get it together, Barnes._ He's told himself that a lot when thinking about Steve lately.

There's a blush that tints Steve's cheeks, soft and pale pink, and Bucky's no artist but he kind of knows how to handle a camera, and he'd love to commit that look to film. He wants to keep that sheepish, somewhat bashful smile and pale pink blush, and the eyes that are cast down and the dark lashes that are brushing his cheeks, he wants to keep them, so that even when the memory fades he'll have the image. He wants to keep it by his bedside, that look the last thing he thinks of before he goes to sleep, and the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up.

_Get it together, Barnes._

"Hey, Buck." He says, and there's something about the shortened name that makes him smile again. No one really calls him "Buck." Natalia calls him James, and Sam calls him Bucky, and they're the only two people he talks to, really. His mom used to call him Jim, Becca used to call him Jimmy. Not anymore, of course. His mom is dead, and he has no idea where Becca is. It feels nice; Steve has a pet name for him. Or maybe Bucky's just being an idiot.

_Get it together, Barnes._

"I just came to check up on you and the little guy," Steve continues, and he gives Bucky that crooked smile that makes him shiver. "Mind if I come in?"

"No, no-" Bucky says, stepping aside. Hunter takes a step forwards. "Come on in."

Steve has another walk around the place, and when he comes into the living room, he smiles. "I can't fault you, Bucky. This place is perfect. I wish we could give every puppy in there away to someone as good as you." Bucky feels a blush creep up his neck, and he smiles sheepishly. "He's got a good home here."

"Thanks." Bucky murmurs. "I- I really wanted him. I think- I think I needed him. Y'know. I don't get out so much anymore."

"Nothing to be ashamed of." Steve says, head shaking. "I didn't sleep for a week after I came back. Didn't eat. Didn't do anything, come to think of it."

"What got you out of it?" Bucky asks, softly. Hunter has sat down on his bed, apparently fed up with the fact that neither of them are paying him very much attention.

"Sam. Met him out on a run one morning. He got me out of it." Steve gives a small smile, lips curling up in a way that seems oddly private, that makes Bucky feel like he's intruding. His stomach lurches. What if he had been wrong? What if Steve's not seeing Peggy, or the other blonde haired girl, what if he's seeing Sam? What if they're a _thing_? Sam has never said anything to deny it. Before Bucky can stop himself the words are tumbling out of his mouth, despite how he fumbles over them. "Are you- are you and him-?"

"Me and Sam?" Steve shakes his head. "No. Uh- He's just a pal. And I'm not so good at the dating thing. Not really." He blushes a darker shade of pink, and Bucky has to try to hide a smile. Although honestly, he's not sure what makes him happier; the fact that Steve has pretty much just confirmed himself single, or the blush that is staining his cheeks right at that moment.

"I'll, u- I'll keep checking in. Just for the next few weeks." Steve says, like he's trying to change the subject. "Just to keep making sure you're both okay. But then after four weeks, he's all yours, and you can forget all about it."

I _don't want to forget all about it. I don't want to forget all about you._ He thinks, but he doesn't say that aloud. Of course not.

"Thanks, Steve." Bucky murmurs. "For everything."

Steve gives that crooked smile again, but it's somewhat sad this time. Bittersweet, Bucky's brain so helpfully supplies. "You're welcome, Buck. You really are.

~*~

Steve visits two more times. On the last visit, Peggy shows up.

"I'm sorry," She apologises as she scratches the tuft of blonde fur behind Hunter's ear, his soft spot. "He had to be somewhere else. We've had a lot of pregnant bitches coming in and he's the best with the newborn puppies. You wouldn't think it, looking at him, but he really is."

Oh but Bucky would think it. He _does_ think. Steve must be 200 pounds and over six feet tall but he looks so gentle. Though his shape his made up of sharp angles and lines, his body is nothing but curves, soft and delicate, long, rolling shoulders and round, full biceps. He exudes gentleness, softness, tranquility. Bucky has no trouble imagining him bottle feeding a new born puppy, rubbing its tiny body with his index finger until it takes a breath.

"Yeah, I bet he is." Bucky murmurs. He doesn't say anything else. He cannot give himself away to this woman.

She leaves, and Bucky is left with no one but Hunter, and though he doesn't mind at first, when he begins to think of Steve- well, _then_ he begins to mind.

~*~

Bucky doesn't see him again.

He doesn't see him at the VA, he doesn't see him in the park, he doesn't see him anywhere. Bucky never sees anyone like him, not even someone who looks vaguely like him, never spots him in a crowd. Maybe Steve was telling the truth when he said he doesn't get out much. Bucky doesn't even have his number, just the number of the shelter, but knowing his luck he wouldn't be able to get through to Steve, only to someone else.

It's irrational. He barely knows Steve. Knows him only from what he has told him in the brief moments they have seen each other in the past. But he can't help it; he's drawn to him. And he's not sure why, but he wants to know him, inside and out, wants to know Steve better than himself. But he's probably not going to get that chance. And that makes his chest ache.

_Get it together, Barnes._

He takes Hunter to the park, but he's not paying attention. He's thinking about Steve. He thinks about Steve a lot. Hunter is good, Hunter is a good distraction; whenever Bucky looks distant he is brought back by a wet nose pressing into his skin and tiny paws on his legs, and he climbs up onto Bucky's bed during the night and snuggles up next to him, and doesn't even spook when he has nightmares, just cuddles in closer. He's good. He's what Bucky needs.

But what Bucky also needs is Steve. And he just can't stop thinking about him.

When Hunter sees the other puppy across the park, it's been at least a month since Bucky last saw Steve, if not longer. He knows by now that he has to keep the leash in his metal hand around other dogs because Hunter goes _crazy_ for other dogs; the metal hand is the only one strong enough to hold him back. God help Bucky when he's fully grown.

He hasn't made the change, too busy scanning the crowd of people for Steve. At least it makes a change from scanning crowds of people for potential threats and IEDs.

Hunter tugs, and Bucky almost loses his balance; he lets go, and Hunter goes flying across the park.

"Hunter!"

Bucky runs after him, but he gets winded fairly easily now; Sam thinks it's psychological, because he's otherwise healthy, but whatever. He scans the area for Hunter, tries calling for him, but he just can't _see_ him. He doesn't come back to him.

Bucky panics.

He rakes his hands through his hair, metal plates catching and yanking strands out in his haste, and he tastes acid at the back of is throat. He cries out for him again but his voice is hoarse. He can't believe he's lost him. He can't believe he's been stupid enough to lose the only friend he's got, the one little guy that gets him out of the house-

"Looking for someone?"

Bucky sags, deflated entirely and pulls his puppy out of Steve's arms, scolds him for running away even when he's holding him close. "Bad. We don't do that, Hunter, that's bad, that's naughty, how the fuck are you so fast anyway, you've only got three legs-" Bucky stops when he begins to lick the underside of his jaw, and he sighs.

And then he turns to Steve.

Steve, who is wearing a tight grey t-shirt and sweatpants, his skin coated in a thin layer of sweat. His hands are on his hips, and Bucky wonders how the hell he hasn't just burst through that shirt yet. He swallows thickly. No. Now is not the time for a boner.

"Thank you." He says, earnestly.

"Not a problem," Steve smiles, and it's crooked. Bucky wonders if all of his smiles are crooked. He hopes not. He hopes that smile is reserved for him and him alone. "He actually kind of passed me. Whilst I was running. Had to sprint to catch up."

"The missing leg doesn't make a difference." Bucky murmurs, and Steve huffs a laugh. "Apparently not." He agrees.

"I- I probably look like such a bad owner." Bucky says, cheeks flushing dark red. He looks down at the ground (despite how hard it is to take his eyes away from Steve and his fucking incredible body), genuinely ashamed. But Hunter is his now, so surely Steve can't take him away from him, he wouldn't, Steve said he was a good owner-

"What? No." Steve says, head shaking. "Happens to the best of us. Don't worry about it. As long as you always get him back in the end."

He smiles, and Bucky smiles too. It's infectious. Steve does something to the filter between Bucky's brain and his mouth, because Bucky thinks about inviting Steve over for coffee to say thank you, because he deserves to be thanked, but then he throws that thought away because it's dumb, and Steve will never say yes-

"-Do you want to come over for a coffee, or something? Just to say thanks, for rescuing him."

Shit.

Bucky's heart leaps into his throat and he feels like he can't breath, his head spinning, lungs aching. But Steve just smiles, crooked as ever, and nods.

"Yeah." He says. "Yeah, Bucky. That'd be great."

~*~

They talk for a long time. They talk about everything. Steve mentions how his mother was a nurse and he always wanted to be a veterinarian, because damn did he love their little childhood dog and he saved a baby rabbit once when he was a kid, from a cat in his back garden in Brooklyn. At the, Bucky almost chokes on his coffee.

"You're from Brooklyn?" He asks, and he blinks. "No shit."

"You too?" Steve asks, and he grins wide.

"Uh huh. Born 'n raised." Bucky nods, and Steve laughs, says something about the odds and the chances. Turns out they lived a few streets away from each other, but were in different catchment areas for schools, so they missed each other there, glanced over each other. They both loved the same little bakery with the best peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies, and the same little Chinese place that had spring rolls to die for.

"Shit." Steve looks at the clock over Bucky's shoulder. The mug has gone cold in Bucky's hands, the coffee long gone. He has no idea what time it is; Hunter has retired to his bed, apparently exhausted by his adventure. "I have a shift in half an hour. And I need to get changed." He stands, and Bucky's eyes find his pecks before he looks away. "This has been great, Buck." He says, and he smiles. "We should do this more often."

"Mm." Bucky hums, non-committal. He doesn't think Steve means it. But then Steve has turned to the coffee table in the living room, picking up the pen Bucky had left there a few days ago. He grabs Bucky's flesh hand, and Bucky swallows thickly. Steve skin is still as soft and warm as it had been the first time, and there's a jolt of electricity through Bucky as he does.

He writes some digits down, and smiles. "Just send me a text with your number, and I can see when I'm free." Steve says. He must see how Bucky is gaping at him, jaw hanging open just a little, and how dumbstruck he is. "I mean, if you want to. I don't want to force you. You probably have things to do, I'm sorry, I just assumed-"

"No." Bucky interrupts, and he smiles. "No, this is good. I'll text you." He promises. Steve's answering smile is dazzling.

"Great." He says. "See you round, Buck."

"See you round, Steve." He murmurs, and Hunter doesn't even raise his head to say goodbye.

~*~

They meet up a few days later, and have coffee at Bucky's place again. They have coffee a few times, actually, at both of their houses. One time Steve comes late, and they get take out and watch some dumb movie on Netflix. They meet up after Steve's runs, sometimes. They become friends; good friends.

But that doesn't stop Bucky from thinking, what if? What if Steve looked at him the way Bucky does? What if he wanted more than what they were, friends, quickly becoming best friends, what then? Sometimes he thinks maybe this was more than just a pipe dream. He sees Steve's gaze flit down to his lips and then back up, so fast Bucky can deny it ever happened, or he feels Steve eyes on him when Bucky is looking at the tv, or at Hunter, or at the coffee pot. It always sets a warm feeling in Bucky's gut, makes his stomach flip flop. It's a nice feeling, for sure.

They're coming home from the park one day, Steve still wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt, not even breaking a sweat even though Bucky watched him run at least six laps of that park- and Steve had been there before Bucky had. He's still not over the marvel and awe that overcomes him when he thinks about how much stamina Steve must have, and then he still can't push down the arousal that curls in his gut when he thinks about how freaking amazing that would be in the bedroom.

But he finds, when he gets to his apartment, that the door is unlocked. For a moment, he panics. His panic attacks are rare, few and far between now that he has Hunter to make it better, but he files panic rising in his gut, in his chest, feels his lungs constrict. He doesn't look at Steve, keeps his eyes firmly on the door handle, but Steve must figure out that something's wrong. Bucky is close to hyperventilating when he feels a hand curl around his, holding it, fingers entwining and interlocking.

"It's okay." Steve says softly, his voice low. "Whatever it is, it's okay. Bucky. Breathe. It's okay."

And Bucky breathes.

"I'm gonna go in first." Steve says. Bucky nods. He knows that's wrong. He thinks that he's being stupid, acting like this. There's probably nothing behind that door. He might have just forgot to lock it when he went out, bounding out to go and see Steve.

But Bucky never forgets to lock the door. Like he would be so careless.

And the fear curling in his gut is reasonable. He's told Sam about the time they came back to the bunker and it was unlocked. Someone had planted explosives inside. They had crept in slowly, carefully, and it had taken out at least three of them, injured a dozen more. Bucky remember that now, remembers the heat of the blast and the thud of bodies hitting the floor, the sand in his face and his mouth as he hit it too. He remembers that, and he's afraid, and Sam would tell him that was normal.

There's a tone to Steve's voice when he speaks, and it's one of authority. Bucky remembers, distantly, a conversation they had month ago. Steve had been a Captain. He had rank. He must have done this a hundred times.

"Stay here, behind the door." He says, slowly, quietly. "Stay here, until I tell you. I'll go in, have a scout around. We'll be okay."

He gives Bucky's hand a squeeze, and then lets go. Bucky's reluctant, clings to him shamelessly until Steve absolutely has to go. He pauses, hand gripping the handle, and he pulls it open quickly, stepping inside.

There's a pause. A beat in which Bucky hears only his heart.

"Who're you?"

Steve's voice. Clear, though muted through the wall.

"I could ask the same of you."

Natalia's voice, muted too.

Bucky steps around the wall sheepishly. He feels like a fool, now, but when Natalia seems him, still a little wide eyed and panting, her face softens.

"I'm sorry." She says. I really didn't mean to startle you."

Steve is looking at her with something like contempt, scorn, and then his face softens too. Bucky lets Hunter off the leash, and he hops his way over to her, wagging his tail and wiggling his body as he goes.

"I'm Natasha." She says, and it sounds foreign to Bucky. She changed her name when she moved to America, she told him once. She was from Russia, and she wanted to fit in. It worked. Natasha's a fairly common name. But he always calls her Natalia.

"Steve." He answers. There's a hint of recognition in his eyes, like that's familiar, but he says nothing.

She rakes her eyes over his body. Honestly, what he wears to go running should be outlawed. It's more of a second skin than a layer of clothing; the shirt is tight around the arms and the chest, outlining his pecks and his abs perfectly. The sweatpants are fine in the front, and okay on the legs, but Bucky made the mistake of walking behind him up the stairs one day, and his ass-

It's obscene. Public indecency.

Natalia smiles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Steve."

"Pleasure's all mine." He responds. He looks to Bucky then, and says, "Shall I go make coffee?"

Bucky pauses, gives a nod. "Sure. You want anything, Nat?"

"Black. Two sugars." She answers, with a polite smile- it borders on a smirk, but Bucky only knows that because he's known her for so long.

Steve heads off to the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone with Nat. Steve knows his way around the kitchen and he knows how Bucky likes his coffee, and with his marching orders from Natalia, he should be fine. Bucky sits down beside her on the coach, and she arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Please tell me your hitting that."

Bucky's face turns a glorious shade of beetroot.

"I- He's just, he's jut my friend, Nat, I-"

"Just your friend?" She asks. "Bummer. Has got a special someone?"

"He said he's not very good at dating." Bucky answers, slowly, but that's easier to talk about, at least. Doesn't make him flounder quite as much. "So I think that's a no? I don't know."

She nods, like she's making a mental note of that. She probably is. "But you like him that way."

It's not even a question. She sees right through him. She always has. "Yeah." He nods, sullenly. "Yeah I do."

Steve comes back in with coffee just as Bucky gets around to asking Nat about when she got back and what she's doing, if she's staying. Turns out she's only back for three days and then she's heading over to Kenya. He didn't know she spoke Swahili, but apparently she does. Steve sits politely through the conversation, sipping his coffee. Hunter must think he looks lonely, because he chooses this moment to bother him, hopping up onto his lap precariously with only one leg to propel him forward. Steve scratches behind his ear, but he doesn't seem distant from the conversation. Just politely interested.

"So, Steve," Natalia turns her gaze to him, and Bucky feels his stomach drop to his toes. Oh no. She sounds determined. "Are you single?"

Steve splutters, makes an odd sort of choking noise, and flushes. Bucky thinks it's adorable, but he keeps that to himself.

"I- uh-"

"It's just I have a friend, Carol, and you are totally her type." Natalia smiles, like she means nothing of it, and takes a sip of her coffee. Her lipstick stains the mug red, an imprint around the rim. She's fishing. Bucky knows it. Steve doesn't it seems.

"Uh, well, yeah. Yeah, I'm single." Steve nods, and takes a hurried gulp of coffee.

Natalia nods, and she's about to turn back to Bucky when she pauses. "Wait- are you Steve from the shelter?" She asks. She doesn't even wait for an answer; his body language answers her question whether he knows it or not. "You are." She says. "Bucky has told me so much about you. He said you were hot, but he didn't quite do you justice."

She sounds like she's flirting but she's _not_. She's just asked if Steve was single, to get him thinking about it, and then openly admitted that Bucky thinks he's hot, which may or may not take Steve down the route of thinking that he's interested. Which he is, but that's beside the point.

She's simultaneously the best, and the worst.

Steve flushes an even darker shade of red, and knocks his coffee back. He sets his mug on the table, even though he usually puts it into the sink, and stands, wiping his hands discreetly on his thigh- not discreetly enough.

"I guess I'll leave you two to catch up." He says. He heads towards the door, and Bucky stands too, 'cause he's a gentleman after all. Or well, he is for Steve. He heads to the door, and he opens it.

"I'll see you on Monday, right?" He asks, and Steve nods.

"'Course. In the park, just like always." He confirms. Bucky beams, albeit shyly. "Just like always." He repeats.

Steve nods, and he leaves, and Bucky is sure he sees the hint of a smile curling Steve's lips upward.

Bucky shuts the door, and flops onto the sofa. He groans, covering his eyes with his hand. Hunter sits on the chair where Steve had sat, watching.

"You're the worst." Bucky groans, to which he receives a tinkling laugh from Natalia.

"You'll thank me later," She says.

~*~

He does, actually, have to thank her later.

They meet Steve after his run on Monday, and head back to the apartment. They talk, they have coffee, and then-

"I was thinking- maybe we could go out some time." Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. His face is red, a blush staining his skin, and he looks so nervous.

"Like a date?" Bucky asks cautiously. He has a feeling he already knows the answer, though.

"Yeah." Steve nods. "Yeah, like I date. I mean- It doesn't have to be, it can just be a meal out, y'know, a change, but Peggy and her fella Howard went to this great Chinese place by the park, said it was amazing, best dumpling's they've ever had- and Howard spent a year in China." He shrugs his shoulders, and Bucky smiles.

"I'd love that." He says, and he sounds confident. He feels confident. He always feels confident around Steve. He's not sure what it is, what he does to him, but he always makes him feel better. "I'm free Friday night?" He's free every night, but he knows Steve's schedule; Steve is free Friday night too.

"Great." Steve nods, and even though he's blushing, he's beaming. "That's- that's great. I'll come pick you up. Seven o'clock?"

Bucky nods, and Steve is grinning as he goes. It's not lopsided- it reaches his ears, and it makes him glow, and it makes Bucky feel warm all over.

"I'll see you then." Steve says, on his way out.

"Looking forward to it." Bucky says in return, and he means it.

~*~

"I haven't been on a date since before the war, Nat." Bucky says, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he holds two shirts up- he's trying to choose between the grey crew neck jumper or the black shirt, and he should have asked Steve for a dress code or something because he's losing his freaking mind over here.

"Calm down, Yakov." _James_. It's the Russian form of James. No one ever calls him James, but her. No one ever call him Yakov, either. Just her. "It's going to be fine. Steve is _obviously_ into you. You could go in your boxer shorts and he'd still be into you. He might be more into you, actually."

He can hear the laughter in her voice, but he just can't deal with that right now. "Oh, ha ha." He says, and he says. He discards the black shirt, and throws the phone on the bed until he can pull the grey jumper on.

"James?" She asks, when he picks the phone up again. "You still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here." He answers.

"What did you go for?" She asks.

"Jumper." He answers. She hums. "Good choice."

"Thanks." He says. He looks at the clock on the wall, and sighs. An hour to go.

"I hate to love you and leave you James, but it's 1am and I have to be up at five this morning." She says, and he sighs. He should have known. He had forgotten about Kenya.

"Fuck." He says. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She says, coolly, like it's nothing. He still feels bad, though. "This is what I'm here for. Fashion emergencies and general drama."

He chuckles, and she laughs along with him. "Good night, James. Text me in the morning and tell me how it goes."

"Will do, Nat. And thanks again." She murmurs her acceptance and hangs up, and Bucky puts his phone back into his pocket. He goes to look in the mirror; he gets a lot more sleep these days, so there are no bags under his eyes anymore, and he got his hair cut a few days before. It's style is now something reminiscent of the 1940s, but he thinks he likes it. He sighs again, and looks down to see where Hunter is so that he doesn't step on him-

But he's not there.

And that makes Bucky pause.

Hunter follows him everywhere, always a few steps behind. He always has. He follows him from room to room, waits outside of the bathroom door for him, waits patiently whilst he changes or he gets food, and then follows him wherever he goes next. If Bucky goes out without him, Hunter waits by the front door, and he'll still be there when Bucky gets home.

But he's not there now.

He heads through to the living room, and calls, "Hunter?" Normally, he'll come bounding to him if he so much as _thinks_ his name. But now he has no response.

He's lying in his bed, head on his paws. He seems fine. Just sleepy. "Hey, buddy." Bucky mutters, reaching out with his left hand to pat the top of his head. Hunter doesn't stir. Bucky knows for sure something's wrong.

And then he spies the little snack packet of raisins he'd left on the coffee table, and he curses himself. They're handy for a snack, sure, but they're poisonous to dogs. Renal failure, he remembers. It'll cause renal failure. He fumbles for the phone in his pocket, hand shaking, and calls the vet the shetler had supplied him with. She advises him to come straight down; if he's eaten them within the last half hour, he should be able to vomit them back up. They may not have reached his intestines yet. So he clips on Hunter's leash, and pulls him into his arms, carrying him out of the building.

On his way down, he calls Steve.

"Hey," Steve says, his voice light, airy. "You okay? I was just getting dressed-"

"Hunter's sick. I was- Steve I'm an idiot, I'm such an idiot, he ate the raisins, Steve and I- I know he might be okay but I'm scared." He puts Hunter into the back of the car. He never admits that he's afraid to anyone, not even to Sam. He hops into the front of the car. "I'm on my way to the vets now. Meet me there?"

"I'm already on my way, Buck." He says. "See you soon."

"See you." Bucky murmurs. He throws his phone into the front seat and drives. He tries to think about the road, and not about how he's an absolute idiot, the worst dog owner in the world.

Steve is already there when he gets there; when Bucky thinks about it later, he'll realise that Steve lives a lot closer to the vets than he does, so it's no wonder. But all he does is wordlessly hand over his puppy to the nurse, who ferries him right back into the part of the building that only the staff are allowed into. And then they sit, and they wait.

It seems melodramatic. This is a dog. Not a person. And yet Bucky feels dread curling in his stomach, waiting to hear what's going to happen, and his hands shake. He's angry at himself. Hunter is just a baby, and just a dog- Bucky would never pick up a cup of rat poison and drink it, but how could Hunter have known not to eat the raisins? It's Bucky's fault. It's his fault, and he's an idiot. He should have known better. How could he have screwed this up? It's all his fault. Hunter's going to die and it's all going to be his fault.

And he doesn't realise he's said any of that until Steve is taking his hand, holding it between both of his. "He's going to be okay, Buck." he assures him. "The vets here- they're some of the best. And you did the right thing, bringing him straight here. You didn't panic. He's going to be fine."

"It's still my fault." Bucky says. He doesn't realise that there's tears in his eyes until he sniffles.

Steve shifts closer to him, and shakes his head. His hands tighten around Bucky's. "It's not. Bucky, it's not. We all do dumb things from time to time. You forgot. That's okay. He's going to be fine, and he's not going to think any less of you. None of us will, I promise."

Bucky nods. He sniffs. He rests his head on Steve's shoulder, and Steve lets him.

"Mr. Barnes?" A lady in dark blue scrubs holds one of the doors open, and she gives him a small smile. They've been sat there for hours, Bucky realises. It's nearly ten o'clock.

Bucky stands, and Steve goes to take his hand away, but Bucky holds tight. "Come with me?" He murmurs.

Steve nods. "Sure."

Together, they head into the consulting room. Bucky has paperwork to sign, insurance forms and the like. "There'll not be anything to pay." The vet assures him. "The insurance'll cover it all." Steve spares her grateful glance, and Bucky thinks she might be lying, but he doesn't press. He accepts it.

"He had eaten the raisins." She tells him, and Bucky sags. Steve's hand is firm as it holds his. "But he vomited a lot back up when he gave him the Apomorphine. We took a few x rays, and he was clean. Nothing in his digestive system at all. So we ran him through with a bag of fluids, and he's good as new. The nurse'll bring him through for you. Just be a bit more careful in future, okay?"

"Okay." Bucky murmurs. He feels nothing but relief, and Steve's hand in his.

A nurse brings Hunter out to him. She smiles, hands him the leash as Hunter wags his tail, and causes his whole body to wiggle, just like always. He hops towards him, licks his jaw. There's a bandage around his front leg, but Bucky thinks nothing of it.

They take him home. Bucky flops onto the sofa, and Hunter on top of him, his head resting in Bucky's lap. He strokes him absently, playing around with his ears. He's tired now that he's not so worried, and so scared. He feels drained.

Steve hasn't let go of his hand, not until the moment Bucky had fell onto the sofa.

"Do you want me to go?" Steve asks.

Bucky purses his lips, and looks down at the top of Hunter's head. When he looks up at Steve, he feels vulnerable. "Stay."

Steve nods. All Bucky had to do was ask.

He settles beside him on the sofa, and they turn the tv on. There's some crappy chick-flick on, a rom com thing, and they sit through it. They're close enough that their shoulders and thighs are touching. Bucky can feel the warmth Steve radiates.

And then he can feel Steve's eyes on him. He turns to look at him, expecting Steve to look away when Bucky meets his gaze, but he doesn't. He doesn't blush, or apologise.

"You cut your hair."

Bucky nods. It's a little messy now from him running his fingers through it. Steve reaches out slowly, carefully, running his hands through it. It's a hell of a good feeling. Bucky wants to arch up into the touch, like a cat, but he refrains.

"It's a good look." He adds, like it's an afterthought.

They've inched closer to each other. Bucky can feel Steve's breath on his face, see his irises so clearly, see how wide his pupils are.

It's just far too easy to lean in and kiss him.

Steve's lips are soft against his, soft and warm, but there's a heat behind them. It only takes a moment before Bucky's trails his tongue across the seam of Steve's closed lips, causing them to part, allowing him entrance. It's sweet and it's slow, and yet when they pull away, Bucky is gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry I ruined our date." He whispers.

Steve shakes his head; Bucky feels the movement, their foreheads pressed together. But then Steve pauses, falters.

"Well, kinda. But it wasn't really your fault. We'll just have to try again tomorrow night, huh?"

When Bucky pulls back to look at him, Steve is smiling. Bucky grins. "We could just order in." He says. "They do take out?"

Steve huffs softly. "They do, actually."

Bucky nods, and leans against the back of the sofa. "We could order in, put on a movie, wear the bare minimum of clothes-"

Steve leans in and covers Bucky's mouth with his own. Bucky smiles into the kiss, nose brushing Steve's.

"That sounds like a good idea." Steve murmurs. "A very good idea. The best."

Bucky grins, and leans in for another kiss. "Then it's a date."

Steve nods, chases his words with yet another kiss. "It's a date."

**Author's Note:**

> I think I got sucked into that end scene at the vets. But as a (hopeful) future vet, a dog eating something poisonous (i.e raisins) is pretty damn dramatic. And I have seen owners cry over a lot worse.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, questions or prompts. Tumblr is [here](captainspxngles.tumblr.com).


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